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Flora is sitting at the table across from Kato, Madd, and Brix. Her guards are standing behind her chair, their hands clasped in front of them, unhappy looks on their faces.

There are also a couple of men who look as though they just got off work as lumberjacks or some shit with worn out t-shirts under flannels, and ball caps covering their hair.

All heads turn toward my outburst.

Flora smirks then pushes her chair back and saunters over to me as though her presence in the Antoniou home is the most natural and normal thing in the world.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” she teases.

Grabbing my hand, she pulls me behind her to the table and waits until I sit.

“Someone get this girl some coffee. She looks rough.”

“Please. By all means, don’t sugarcoat it,” I say, my eyes pinging around the room. “Seriously. What the fuck is going on?”

No one looks pissed or freaked, so I assume Dima hasn’t been found and there is no current threat. So why the hell is my best friend and her Russian guards standing in the kitchen of the region’s Greek Don.

“These idiots called and said they fucked up and needed my help. So here I am.”

“And how are you supposed to fix…anything,” I say, pinning Kato with a glare. It’s kind of half-hearted being as I’m still half-asleep, but the point gets across when he averts his own gaze and rubs the back of his neck. “Does your dad know you’re here?” I ask, turning my frown on her.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder and sniffs. “Since when do I ask permission to do anything?”

“He knows,” Pyotr, the older of the two guards, answers.

Flora turns and gives the guard a disgruntled look, shakes her head, then turns back to me.

“Apparently, my guards are snitches.”

I huff a laugh. Of course, they’re snitches. Because they don’t want to die at their Pakhan’s hands just because his daughter is a bit of a spoiled brat.

The men dressed in worn out jeans, work shirts, and ball caps are standing quietly off to the side, occasionally leaning toward each other to whisper.

And I’m pretty sure I catch the word for wife…in Greek. Of course, my husbands would only hire Greek contractors. At least I assume by their attire they’re contractors.

“What the hell is all this? And how are you supposed to fix their mistakes?” I ask, looking around the table at the guys before settling my attention on Flora.

“They’re making a bigger room for you all to share. You and I are going shopping. On their dime. Oh…and your money is sitting over there,” she says, jerking her head toward my threadbare duffel bag sitting on the island.

No idea how I missed that when I walked in, though it probably had a lot to do with my best friend sitting in my kitchen with three men she didn’t like all that much and with her very Russian guards standing at her back.

Looking from the money to the contractors, to Flora, then to my guys, my brain struggles to catch up and catch on, especially hungover and without even close to enough coffee in my system.

“I made a doctor’s appointment for you this afternoon for some bloodwork,” Kato says, raising a brow. He’s trying to let me know he set an appointment to check to see if I’m pregnant without coming right out and saying that in front of these men I don’t know. “Then the two of you are going to do…whatever. Go shopping for new shit for the house. Buy new clothes. Buy yourself a car. Whatever the fuck you want to do.”

It's my turn to raise a brow. I cross my arms and sit back against my chair.

Kato clears his throat. The contractors disappear as though he’d barked out an order. No idea where they’re heading, but I don’t hear the front door open and close, so I assume they’re still here.

“You’re letting me walk through the door without you?”

“Without me, yes. Without some backup? Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“Flora’s guards –”

“Are loyal to Flora and are not on my payroll. Their priority is the Pakhan’s daughter.”

I mean, he’s got a point. But damn, that stung a little. He’d more or less said Pyotr and Lev wouldn’t protect me if shit hit the fan.